Cod Almighty | Diary

Preaching to the converted

18 November 2014

"They are not real fans," says Paul Hurst of those who threw smoke bombs at Altrincham on Saturday. The incident is now being investigated by the FA.

It's a phrase we reach for now and again, to distance ourselves from those whose behaviour we deplore. But it needs unpicking. Part of it is unconditionality, which is not the same as being uncritical. Like you, no doubt, Middle-Aged Diary will always support Grimsby Town. If we signed up a convicted rapist, I would argue against it as loudly and clearly as I could, and I would boycott Town matches until the decision was reversed, but I would not start supporting another club.

More to the point, being a real fan seems to me about wanting to contribute to collective success. I've had cause lately to reflect that when I was younger, I was much more prone to like thinking of myself as the best of a bad lot, an honourable exception to the rule. Nowadays, at least on my better days, I'm more inclined to take pleasure in the success of my colleagues. A real fan is behind the team, and likes the sense that they are part of a larger team which comprises not just the players but also the supporters and even the community we represent, something that keeps the towns of Grimsby and Cleethorpes on the map. Our superstitions and our chants are our way of contributing to the common cause.

By contrast, the person who throws a smoke bomb at a game is an overgrown toddler, their ego shrieking silently: "Look at me, look at me." Paul Hurst is quite right. They are fans of no-one but themselves.